Sometimes the dreamers, thinkers and artists are born of circumstance.
“I was so busy trying to maintain my shell, preventing any of my broken, scrambled self from spilling out onto the sidewalk. I couldn’t let any of the ugliness show, not yours and what I thought was mine too. You were convincing, implying how wrong I was about everything. You wore white; I was always dressed in your hand selected shade of grey. All the long while, I shrouded myself in uncertainty, a conflicted reality. Yes, I kept the secrets, and yes, you were right and you’ve always been right. I was wrong about everything, there are no more secrets and I no longer stand in your grey shadow.”
— M. L. Lurie, The Lost Journals